


Palebro Miracle

by Over_Blackout



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Over_Blackout/pseuds/Over_Blackout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are holding a miracle. A tiny, brilliant, flaming miracle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palebro Miracle

Your name is Gamzee Maraka and you are holding a miracle. A tiny, brilliant flaming miracle which you would _die_ for. Karkat is your miracle. He is talking now, playing with your fingers as he does and it is low hum in your ears, a slow rushing, like the sound of the waves on the beach outside your house but infinitely more relaxing. His fingers are fire hot between yours, hotter than any troll you have ever touched. He burns against your skin, your little miracle bro, fire-bright and beautiful. He is made of anger, and so much care and affection, of sleepless night and _kindness_. 

_You wonder how long he can keep it up before he burns out._

You love him, you do. He is like starlight in the endless dark, leading you back from the pits of your mind, tugging you down when you float too high in your head. He _cares_ for you. He has wiped away your tears and papped your face. He has held you when you felt like shaking outta your skin. He has laughed with you, ranted at you (and apologised later), he has kissed you and loved you and given you so many miracles.

_You are gonna live an awful long time, unlike him. You don't really want to. A life without your miracle seem like no life at all._

He tugs on your curls to get your attention, you pull back from your thoughts and lean down kissing the back of his neck, running your hands through his surprisingly soft hair. He purrs and twists in your arms, turning to face you, his slim legs wrapped round your waist, as he takes your face in his hands.

'You okay there clown face?' His voice is amused, gentle. He doesn't have the heart to put in his insults. He kisses under your chin and you stroke down his back, burying your face in his warm shoulder. He is a long hot line against you and you have no need for words now. He strokes your curls and laughs, squirming away when you press butterfly light kisses, up his neck. He continues talking as he strokes the base of your horns. His voice even softer now, a light smattering of raindrops against your eardrums.

You hold your little miracle. Your brilliant, fiery miracle. Your partner. _Your moirail._

**Author's Note:**

> ...sorry. I need some moirail fluff ;-;


End file.
